Games of Ghosts
by Spheredra
Summary: [AtoJi, le shounen ai] When you sleep, something in you loosens, vulnerable to those who know how to take advantage. Atobe and Jirou discover this the hard way.
1. Monday, July 20th

**Games of Ghosts **  
a story of love! mystery! peculiarity! 

- - -

_ "'Explain to me how it happens that the daughter of the governor of the province of Yamashiro happens to be a fox,' said the monk, 'for I have never seen eyes like yours on a human face.'"   
_-The Dream Hunters, Neil Gaiman 

- - -

Monday, July 20

It was July, and unusually warm; the air twisted with heat. It wasn't humid, but nonetheless the blue of the sky was unyielding enough to be distinctly uncomfortable. Atobe discreetly wiped the traces of sweat from his face.

"Practice is over for today," Atobe announced in his full team captain mode. People moved rapidly for the clubhouse, eager to get out of the heat. Atobe watched them expertly - the charismatic overseer, he thought to himself - as he put his racket in his bag and sipped some cold water flavored lightly with lemon.

Fingers poked gently at his arm. Atobe turned, slightly miffed, and saw Jirou looking speculatively at him, still alert from a game. "Come get some ice cream with me," Jirou offered. The edge of a grin hovered faintly on Jirou's lips.

An unusual request. Atobe was normally too busy, and the neighborhood ice cream wouldn't exactly measure up to his refined palate, either. He opened his mouth to reply and Jirou grabbed his wrist impatiently, heading to the clubhouse, and Atobe forgot to refuse.

"It's too hot to do anything today," Jirou grumbled, as they entered the relief of the air-conditioned building. Ootori waved as he and Shishido passed on their way out; most of the other club members were finishing up, and kept out of their way.

"You never do anything except sleep in any case, Jirou," Atobe remarked logically. When he thought about his schedule, he realized he was less busy today than he had been yesterday, or would be tomorrow - or, in fact, for the rest of the week. Jirou was lucky to have chosen the one day Atobe could afford the time to eat a leisurely ice cream. It wouldn't hurt; it was only Jirou, after all.

After he changed, Atobe found Jirou by the door, just beginning to droop. Almost everyone had left, though pockets of activity in scattered corners remained. As Atobe approached, Jirou blinked and perked up, following Atobe's movement with steady eyes. Sometimes, more frequently in recent days, Jirou would raise himself from napping to watch Atobe play tennis - the exciting games, at least. Atobe was not surprised, and he knew that his games were the only ones Jirou awoke to see. It was only fitting that it should be so.

They walked together to the closest ice cream shop, three long blocks away. A long line awaited, and chilled sweetness permeated the air. Atobe hated lines; he sighed and glanced at Jirou with discontent. Jirou only looked at the list of flavors, probably testing the name of each out in his mind. "There's a line," Atobe pointed out in a voice hinting at indignities, trying the subtle approach.

Jirou's brow drew together, and laid his hand briefly on Atobe's shoulder before he turned back to the flavor list. "We've come all the way here already," Jirou said thoughtfully, mind already turned back to his ice cream options.

Atobe had known the subtle approach was worthless for Jirou, whose skin was a few centimeters thick. Jirou, after all, had years of practice ignoring subtlety when people tried to wake him up. Atobe opened his mouth for a more direct attack, and Jirou asked cheerfully, "What are you getting, Atobe?" and Atobe only said, "French vanilla," with perfect poise.

Far too long a time passed before they reached the head of the line, yet Jirou was still in the agony of indecision. Jirou chewed on a thumbnail and mourned, "I don't know what to have!"

"He'll have a medium cone, one scoop strawberry and one scoop sweet cream," Atobe told the girl behind the register, imperiously. "I'll have a small cone of French vanilla."

"Coming right up, sir," the girl replied.

"Oh, thanks," Jirou said to him, countenance slightly sheepish as he looked at Atobe. "How'd you know what I like?"

Atobe lifted an eyebrow. "It's hardly rocket science," he said, returning the look with only a minimum of mocking in his eyes.

Soon enough they were handed waffle cones overflowing with ice cream. Jirou insisted, laughing, on paying for his own. (Of this, Atobe approved.) They took the cones outside. Jirou wandered aimlessly ahead, and Atobe really had little choice but to follow. He sighed; it was too hot to scold Jirou seriously and he was reluctant to simply walk away. Jirou was known to drowse in the middle of streets when left to his own devices.

They wandered down to the river. By the flowing water, Jirou located a bench under a shady tree, and sat on it. The dizzying buzz of cicadas overhead filled the air with the thick taste of summer. Atobe seated himself next to his teammate, licking carefully at his ice cream. It really was a very nice day.

While the ice cream was decidedly inferior, Atobe resignedly accepted it just this once. Jirou kept darting glances at him, quick flashes and then turning back to his own ice cream.

They talked about tennis-   
"Your pacing could be better."   
"But I get so excited! And then afterwards I'm too tired for footwork. I never sleep enough at night."   
"There's something peculiar about your metabolism if you sleep thirteen hours a day and still..." 

-and school-   
"What'd you get on the history test? It wasn't as hard as everyone said it was, I thought. The essay was annoying though! It was so restrictive."   
"Of course I got full marks."   
"It's so unfair, Atobe..." 

-and diverse other things of mutable character.   
"Well, it was clearly stirred too rapidly. Otherwise there would be fewer air pockets, and as a result you'd have much richer ice cream."   
"Hnnn... Atobe, have you ever tried making your own ice cream? I mean, do you have one of those hand-cranked mixers?"   
"I'm sure we have one."   
"You should definitely use it! It's probably the best kind of ice cream of all..." 

Soon, despite the shade that blocked the lazy warm sun, Jirou clearly began to drift. Jirou's entire body moved slower, his tongue languorous when it crept over the strawberry ice cream. He gave a jaw-cracking final yawn as he ate the last bite of cone, slumped, and fell utterly asleep on Atobe's shoulder.

Atobe nibbled reflectively on his own ice cream. Though he had gotten a smaller cone, he ate with refinement, slower than Jirou's sloppy enthusiasm. Atobe considered his options.

One (his cleanly organized mind explained to himself). He could call Kabaji on his cell phone and have him carry Jirou back to school.

Two. Atobe could, with doubtlessly strenuous effort, wake Jirou up.

Three. He could leave Jirou be - it was a safe enough neighborhood. The idea was tempting. Atobe wasn't terribly cruel, not to teammates, not to Jirou - but often he wondered if it mattered at all.

Nonetheless, the French vanilla was tolerable, if barely. He had to finish eating first. Meanwhile he looked at Jirou, asleep. Atobe wondered absently where Jirou went when he was sleeping. Certainly the gently breathing, limp mass on his shoulder wasn't quite all there. Visions of Jirou's spirit temporarily leaving through the sleep-slackened mouth, traveling anywhere and invisible to the eye, went through Atobe's mind, though he discarded his vaporous thoughts soon after having them. He mulled over Jirou's thin eyebrows and thin nose and thin wrists, and unthinkingly forgot to call Kabaji.

Inertia overcame him, or he chose to allow it. After all it was pleasant, and the air was thick and resisted movement.

A glimpse of animal movement on the far bank caught his eye, making him catch his breath in surprise. It revealed itself to be a fox, unusual for showing itself during the day in the city; it peered at them from across the water. In a few minutes it ducked and was gone. Serenity sweetened the day, with the cicadas singing a curtain. He was as of yet not sufficiently cynical to be unaffected by the sight of wildness. Atobe was amused to think of it as a parallel world, a spirit world. No humans but Jirou and himself. It was something to get possessive over.

Cars drove by occasionally, barely audible over the cicadas, and the water never quit its soft noise, but Atobe listened for the huffs of breath that ghosted out of Jirou's lips. The fox did not return.

Unexpectedly there was pressure on Atobe's arm. Jirou's slim fingers grasped Atobe's forearm loosely. An indescribable sound borne of the state between sleep and wakefulness escaped Jirou's throat as he miraculously woke up. It sounded like: "_Nnghkk_."

Jirou blinked owlishly, wiped his eyes, and looked Atobe in the eye, in rapid order. His hair had left imprints on his cheek, red and feathery. Atobe sighed inaudibly, for there wasn't much to be done about Jirou, and he was an excellent tennis player.

"We should go back now," Atobe explained firmly. He stood and pulled a groggy Jirou up with him.

"Ohhhkay," Jirou murmured and ran a hand through his messy hair. He followed Atobe along the sidewalk. Atobe, focusing on the road, was startled when Jirou's arm slung over his shoulder, heavy and warm.

__

Uninvited invasion of personal space, his mind advised him. Within a few moments he settled on a faintly offended expression and opened his mouth for mild invective, but then the arm was gone. It left a slight breeze against the back of his neck in its wake.

The sun hung low in the sky and even Atobe felt somewhat sleepy from the heavy warmth and orange light.

Jirou spoke. "It was so nice today. I hope tomorrow's like this too."

Somewhat surprised, Atobe glanced at Jirou by his side. It was unusual for Jirou to talk on his own when he was tired.

"The heat was inconvenient," Atobe said, mind wandering. "Though it builds character."

"I like it. That's what ice cream is for," Jirou replied with a sleepy smile.

That was true. Thinking of it, because it had been beautiful, Atobe told Jirou about the fox that lived by the river. One didn't often see animals. Jirou didn't believe him upon the first telling, then was slowly converted into regretful longing. Just looking at him, Atobe could tell that Jirou was making elaborate plans to come and search for a glimpse, and also that Jirou would never be awake long enough to put a scheme into action.

Atobe said nothing. He only considered.


	2. Wednesday, July 22nd

__

Wednesday, July 22

It had to have been a chance meeting.

Atobe, conscious of the pull of another hot day, regally stood up against it. Foregoing some minor student council paperwork, he instead headed to the street courts with Kabaji and Jirou in tow. A few nameless players were there. To Atobe's stack of victories he rapidly added two more, in a lazy fashion, while his teammates watched idly from the side. It was barely worth the effort, but he liked the idea of standing alone on the court like a beacon, unaffected by the exercise despite being under the blazing sun.

And then Fuji Shuusuke's tormentingly smiling countenance appeared on the court, accompanied by the Seigaku data collector. Atobe never minded standing out, but the Seigaku players' personalities went out of _unusual_ and well into _strange_. Atobe greeted them with the devil's smile. He appreciated the underlying currents of fate. "Fuji, Inui. How pleasant to meet like this. Since the situation is so fortuitous, would you like to play a match?" Infuse debonair into your smile, now and again show teeth.

"Fuji-san! Fuji-san!" Jirou's joy was palpable and very noisy. Atobe resigned himself to Jirou's embarrassing displays, since needling Jirou about it was never effective. That wide-eyed adrenaline and hop-skip-and-jump to the feet of the enemy - that was just Jirou. "Fuji-san, oh, it would be great if you'd play a game with me. It was boring before but now you're here."

Fuji regarded the excitement with inscrutable kindness. He looked like he was indulging a dog. "Certainly, Jirou-san. I'm glad to see you here." All that smile, the stretch of lips, was vaguely distasteful, though Atobe appreciated strategic masks and the spark behind them.

Jirou and Fuji moved off to the far court. Atobe regarded Jirou's thrumming anticipation with slight doubt. And yet there was no harm in it; he said nothing. Inui glinted in the light, notebook in hand, so Atobe said, "Taking Jirou's data?"

"Why, certainly."

Inui himself acted according to clockwork. The technique felt like so much futility in Atobe's eyes. All the best players transcended data. Still - Atobe looked speculatively at the data gatherer, a spark of an idea coming into his mind. It amused him greatly, and he resolved to discuss it with Sakaki-sensei.

The _thwok _of the ball punctuated the atmosphere, accompanied by sneaker rubber against the ground. Jirou was most certainly faster since the last game he had played against Fuji. He ran wild; scrambling, sparks flying behind his feet. Atobe barely noticed when the final score was called, 6-3, Fuji. It was drowned out largely by yelling, Jirou's voice over the heat. "That was really cool, Fuji-san, how did you learn that? You're even better than before. Wow."

Atobe felt the sting of defeat in lieu of his oblivious teammate, but it wasn't entirely unexpected. By now the sun was up and baking, and he was reluctant to stay like a lizard on a rock. He was bored; the glamour of the matches had worn off quickly.

"Jirou, let's go," he called, standing up. Atobe turned for the exit, and Kabaji was obediently there behind. He looked back when nobody joined them.

Jirou was still talking to Fuji, so Atobe spoke to the air. "I have business to attend to. See you later." Very calmly, he walked off the court, without another backwards glance. Unfamiliar emotions poked cautiously into his head.

Maddening, that boy, only too happy to lose incredibly. There was no reason for Atobe to stay around to see it, and student council responsibilities called to him.

The heat shimmering off the pavement offended Atobe's sensibilities, and he walked quickly. Offhandedly it occurred to him that he might be being petty - but it was so satisfying that there was no help for it. The limo was waiting, and he and Kabaji sat wordlessly inside.


	3. Friday, July 24th

__

Friday, July 24

Everyone noticed it. They cast apprehensive looks at him; some of the first years caught a glimpse of his face from a distance and withered like tulips in a desert. When Atobe Keigo was discontent with the world, it radiated out to all his immediate surroundings, and anyone caught in the zone was liable to find himself scathed and running laps.

The reason he was irritated was not present. That was the problem.

It wasn't unheard of for Jirou to miss practice - sometimes Jirou slept through class and went on uninterrupted - but Atobe had said that they might have a practice match between them that day. It was surely unusual for Jirou to miss _that. _In fact it was annoying, thought Atobe. He'd have to assemble some grueling punishment - 30 laps definitely weren't enough - maybe he could-

"Hey, Atobe." Oshitari and some cringing underclassman broke Atobe's vengeful reverie. Oshitari appeared as calm as usual, though there was a tiny line between his brows. "Shin-kun here tells me that they found Jirou, but no one could wake him up."

"That's hardly news," Atobe said dismissively. "I expect we should just send Kabaji over."

"We even dumped water on his face," Shin-kun protested, from the side. "He didn't so much as turn over! We all know what Jirou-sempai is like, but this is really remarkable. He's never been this bad before."

Atobe frowned. He maintained skepticism that a _really _good shaking wouldn't do the trick, because experience had taught him that Jirou was stubborn. "Let's go see him."

The little second-year led Atobe and Oshitari around to the classrooms, where a hushed and bewildered crowd milled around an unseen point. Bodies, however, parted from Atobe's path automatically. In the center of the spectacle was a very comatose, slightly wet tennis regular. Off to one side, Jirou's math teacher was speaking to someone on a cell phone.

That could mean anything, though. Atobe grasped Jirou's shoulder with authority. The lack of response was actually worrying. It was like an empty body, were it not for the slow, heaving breaths. "Jirou! We were going to play a game," he said. Not even a twitch returned.

"Thank you," said the teacher, before hanging up with a beep. "Atobe-kun! I just called the hospital. To me, Akutagawa-kun definitely seems unconscious."

"Did anything happen?"

"No, I can't imagine the cause. He was awake at the beginning of class, looked just as always. I started the unit on trigonometry, and he must have dozed off." Jirou hated trigonometry, Atobe recalled. "No one tried too hard to wake him at the end of class, but later when he was still here... And now this."

"This is ridiculous." Atobe glared at the prone body, vaguely disturbed by the stillness. Jirou gave an impression of just so much flesh and hair. Furthermore, he looked heavy, in marked contrast with his usual airy character. "Is an ambulance coming?"

"Yes, soon. Excuse me, I'm going to call Akutagawa-kun's parents."

Oshitari remarked, gravely, "This looks bad."

Atobe discovered feelings of personal concern within himself, which was only a mild surprise. Atobe wasn't overly cruel to his teammates. They'd been together for so long that they'd assumed the role of friends, and he treated them as such.

The ambulance came in a whirl of light and sound. Jirou was laid out on a stretcher and carried, limp as a beached jellyfish, to the vehicle. He didn't so much as stir.

"You know, he looks absolutely normal," observed Oshitari, in a strange tone.

At that, Atobe considered. He thought about Monday, when he and Jirou had eaten ice cream together. He had thought, then, that Jirou's habit of sleep looked oddly empty. "You think so too?"

"Though we usually don't remark on it, because he sleeps so much - but doesn't Jirou look as if there's nothing in there whenever he's asleep?"

"Since he makes up for it when he's really awake, it's not remarkable," mused Atobe. "Normally."

They watched the ambulance drive away, in silence. The sky above showed hints of descending into sundown. "It's unusual. But he'll be all right," Oshitari said, as much to himself as to Atobe, once the last glow of the flashing ambulance lights disappeared.

Fortunately Hyoutei had no games lined up with other schools for the next two weeks. Hiyoshi had recently fallen into sullen disfavor, due to an injury involving Gakuto and interior decorating. Presumably the latter was the result of the former. No one discussed the specifics of the incident, anymore. "I'm sure Jirou will recover by the next match," Atobe remarked. "If not-"

Oshitari nodded. They shared a moment of dubious silence.

"Jirou had better wake up," Oshitari said, voicing Atobe's exact thoughts.

The problem gnawed on Atobe the entire day, palled his food, soured his sleep. _It's a ridiculous thing to lose to_, he thought with enforced rancor._ Too much sleep!_

Atobe himself was plagued with dreams; brief, fragmentary affairs laced with wine-colored sunshine. The fox from the river stared into his eyes, reflecting ghosts in its bright orange irises. _Do you have what I want?_ What he remembered afterwards merely left him confused. He wondered what Jirou's dreams contained, in that strange, heavy sleep.


	4. Saturday, July 25th

__

Saturday, July 25

By the next morning all the regulars had been notified of Jirou's hospitalization. Sensing an agreement, they gathered outside the school, seeming somewhat at a loss. It was strange without the omnipresent form of Jirou drowsing, but no one mentioned it.

"Are you really sure he isn't just asleep?" Gakuto asked doubtfully. The strength of Jirou's snoozing was an article of legend, and justifiably so.

"Surely not," Atobe answered. "_I_ couldn't wake him."

Gakuto opened his mouth to say something probably inane; Oshitari spoke faster, just in time. "I agree with Atobe. This time it actually looks serious."

Ootori brimmed with concern and good nature. Inevitably, he suggested, "Maybe we should go to the hospital to see Akutagawa-senpai."

Atobe checked his watch. 9:30 AM. "All right," he decided. "He'd better appreciate this once he's awake."

They rode on the public bus, which Atobe disliked ardently. He only submitted to the indignity of the bumps and noise because there was no time to call a private vehicle. Nonetheless, he maintained excellent grace, even when an old lady bumped into him and then smacked his leg with her cane. It seemed like eternity before they reached the hospital.

In the waiting room, they noticed Jirou's father dozing in a chair in the corner. He looked very much like his son, especially because he was snoring softly.

"We shouldn't wake him," Atobe concluded. Considering the sleeping habits of the Akutagawa clan, it might be more trouble getting the elder Akutagawa awake than it was worth.

He spoke to the secretary, and they were led to room 203 (hospital regulations being no match for Atobe's express wishes). Stepping through the doors, Atobe observed the essence of all hospital rooms - steeped in white anonymity, except for the lump of Jirou under the sheets.

"They can't identify what's wrong with him yet," the nurse who had brought them explained. "He's under observation for the time being, and we'll take test samples today. So far his vital signs appear normal."

"Is there any idea when he might awake?" Atobe asked.

"I'm afraid not," she told him. "We'll notify his family if there's any change." She departed quietly, leaving a bit more room in the space crowded by eight junior high students, especially Kabaji.

"Jirou looks... well, normal," said Shishido. Even Ootori couldn't disagree. Anticlimactic feelings collapsed the gravity of the situation. The Hyoutei regulars stared down at their fallen teammate, deflated.

Jirou's breath came slow and regular, and his mouth had fallen very slightly open. The surroundings washed him pale, but upon inspection he was about the same as ever in all aspects.

Gakuto broke the silence. "Maybe someone should kiss him." Atobe looked at him like he was an idiot, but Gakuto only grinned. "Like Sleeping Beauty. Haven't you seen the Disney movie?"

"Well, Atobe, it couldn't hurt," Oshitari said, in defense of his doubles partner. The smirk hovering about Oshitari's lips was hidden just enough to be deeply offensive.

"What are you implying?" Atobe glared. Everyone seemed to be looking at him.

"I don't think it's a good idea," Shishido objected. "What if Jirou has some sort of disease that you could catch? Y' never know. Though it'd be hilarious," he added as an afterthought. Atobe made sure to include him in the glare.

"Oh, come on. Try it, Atobe!" said Gakuto, not even bothering to hide his disturbingly large grin. He was far too enthusiastic about it. "It's supposed to be a prince, after all."

"What?" With raised eyebrows, Atobe sneered, "While I'm sure _my _kiss would have an effect on anyone, I'm certainly not-"

"We should really give everything a shot. You want to do everything possible to ensure Hyoutei's strength, right?" Oshitari cut in. If Atobe had held illusions as to Oshitari's loyalties, he didn't anymore.

Atobe grumbled, "He's asleep, not dead." Nonetheless, Atobe hated when his team used that particular tack. It was a far too easy way to manipulate him. He inadvertently cast one look over the prone, silent body in the bed, which suddenly took on an appearance of helplessness, and Atobe figured it wouldn't hurt too much.

"Get out," he commanded imperiously, entirely cool and collected, entirely dignified. "I'm not putting on a show for _your _benefit."

Despite some mutinous looks from certain members, the team wasn't out of hand enough to disobey, and filed out. "He never minded putting on a show _before_," Gakuto muttered as a parting shot while exiting. The door clicked shut behind them.

Alone and quiet, Atobe faced his task without trepidation. It wasn't exactly a big deal. As he leaned over the bed, Jirou's breath ghosted past his cheek. Atobe pressed their lips together, a dry thing. He felt odd, and hoped it wasn't a contagious disease.

There was no response at all. There wasn't so much as a catch in Jirou's breath.

Damn.

Holding his dignity tightly in, Atobe left the room. Gakuto attacked him the moment the door closed. "That wasn't a real kiss!"

__

Insult and injury. Thank you. "20 laps when we get back, Gakuto," Atobe said. His pace never faltered, though his pride be wounded. "For peeking through the glass in the door."

  
"Damn it!"

"Oh, and 10 laps to Oshitari, for abusing my position of responsibility."

"Ah, well, it can't be helped."

As satisfying as that was, they left the hospital rankling in defeat.

- - -

That afternoon, the butler notified Atobe of a call. He quickly checked the time - 2 PM. Jirou, he thought, news, and he reached for the phone quickly. "Hello."

"Hello, Atobe-san." The voice was a dash of cold water. It wasn't Jirou. "This is Fuji Shuusuke from Seigaku. Are you surprised?"

Surprised - why would he be surprised. Atobe wondered how anyone managed to remain sane over on the Seigaku team. Oh, wait, no one had. "Fuji," he answered noncommittally. Fuji was probably melodramatically smiling - had to enhance his appeal. "To what do I owe the honor?"

"Oh, simply curiosity. Has Akutagawa-san been busy today?"

Fuji, you smile too much. It's bad style. "Why do you ask?"

"Atobe-san, it doesn't do to answer a question with a question." Fuji's voice fell into a husky chuckle over the line. "But in this case, I merely ask because Akutagawa-san asked me for a match today, and he did not show up. Nor do I know his number - but Inui does know yours."

Of course. Inui probably knew his address, blood type, and favorite food, too. "Jirou was taken ill yesterday," Atobe informed Fuji, aware of his haughty - but controlled, that was important - tone. "He has not yet recovered."

"I see," Fuji said. "Hmm."

"Yes. I'll tell him you called." Or maybe Atobe would forget. Memories were unstable things. For while Atobe reasoned that Jirou's time with Fuji was an excellent opportunity to gather insight on Fuji's tennis game, his memory might not feel the same way.

"If you'll excuse my asking, what is Akutagawa-san ill with?" Fuji sounded concerned, perhaps too much so. Then again, Atobe had to admit that Fuji would never overact.

__

Clink; Atobe played idly with a paperweight on his desk. An expensive one. If he dropped and broke it he'd be bereft of at least 10,000 yen, not that it made a difference. "Don't worry about Jirou," he said, finally. "He'll be fine."

"Make sure he gets enough sleep. Or perhaps, not too much sleep," said Fuji, politely. Atobe was momentarily startled; Fuji couldn't know. That was impossible.

Atobe laughed mechanically, but he made sure it sounded realistic. "Don't worry," he repeated, the sound ringing through his ears.

"Thank you, Atobe-san. Goodbye."

"Goodbye." He hung up with some muted relief. Fuji set his teeth on edge.

Sitting in his bedroom and thinking about the empty day ahead of him, Atobe considered the possibilities. While he had some homework, it wasn't of much importance anymore. As a matter of fact, he thought he might-- well, perhaps he could--

It took half an hour to clarify the idea. After the time he shrugged and figured he could do whatever he wanted to do, so why not?

Leaving the house, Atobe walked a few blocks to the nearest bus stop. He told no one. Remarkably, he waited stoically for the public bus, a hell of a sacrifice. He boarded the next bus. Before long, the hospital came into view, an unlikable long white building. The interior smelled peculiar; why couldn't they take the trouble to get air fresheners?

"They've taken Akutagawa-kun for some tests right now," explained the secretary, when Atobe asked. "In a while he'll be back and you can visit him for a bit."

Thwarted and displeased, Atobe settled himself down in one of the waiting room chairs, too soft for comfort, and picked up a magazine. He hadn't thought too hard of what he'd do once he arrived. He had entertained unconscious notions of his very presence being required for Jirou to wake up.

An hour, perhaps, ticked by. A sense of quiet fell over the hospital rooms, brought on by the afternoon sunlight through the window. A fish tank in the corner, inhabited by brightly cheerful tropical fish, seemed terribly pointless. Atobe considered going home, but the idea of taking the bus over and then not even catching a glimpse of Jirou galled him, so he sat it out stubbornly.

Finally, the secretary got his attention and explained that Akutagawa-kun had returned, and would he like to go visit? Atobe would; they passed the same corridors to room 203.

"Have they found anything wrong with him, yet?" he asked, before entering.

"I'm afraid there's been nothing. This is an extremely singular case. All his tests have come back normal, I'm told." With that, the nurse ushered him in, bowed, and took her leave. Atobe imagined that the staff probably told everyone the worst-case scenario. He clicked the door shut, turned around to do he-didn't-know-what.

And then a _voice _sounded.

It said: "Atobe."

Stunned, Atobe whirled around and stared at the figure on the bed in pure astonishment.

"What?" he said, disbelief writ large on his face.

"Where am I?" Jirou asked, still lying down. His eyes were, however, open.

"The hospital. What happened, Jirou?"

"Huh? I think I should be asking you that," Jirou protested. The boy sat up slowly, though he looked drowsy still.

All things considered, Atobe thought it would be a remarkably bad idea to let Jirou sleep now, so he stepped forward and shook Jirou lightly. The solidity of his shoulder was an anchor, and Atobe felt rather relieved. He was also gratified to think of how he might gloat at Gakuto, later.

Dryly, Atobe informed, "You've been having an extended naptime."

Jirou stared at him for an extended beat. "Oh no! Did I miss our match? Oh no, what time is it?"

"Almost four."

"Friday?"

"Saturday, actually."

"Oh no! Fuji-san," Jirou wailed. Atobe gazed back, steadily. It was just too pathetic. The sight crept through Atobe's cracks, appealing to his not-entirely-defunct sense of honor.

"Fuji called earlier, asking about you. I told him you were sick," Atobe said. "You can call later and reschedule."

"Oh. Yes! Thanks, Atobe."

"So, Jirou. How do you feel?"

"I feel perfectly all right. Was I really _asleep_ that long?" Jirou now looked quite alert. Missing the match with Fuji had probably shocked him into wakefulness. "Why'd you stick me in the _hospital_, huh? Are my parents around?"

Ah, this indeed is getting more than you wish for. "You," Atobe explained patiently, "were in a coma. Nothing could rouse you. And your father was here in the morning, but he must have left."

Jirou nodded several times, absorbing this. He stretched like a cat and began to get out of bed, but Atobe stopped him with disdain. "Don't get up. I'll call the nurse. They have to check you before they can let you go, obviously."

"Oh," said Jirou. "I hope it doesn't take long." He stared up at Atobe; the fluorescent lights of the hospital room cast reflections of bright light on Jirou's eyes. It reminded Atobe of something. "Thanks, Atobe," Jirou said again.

Within the half hour, Jirou was released by a very puzzled hospital staff. His parents and siblings came to take him home, arriving with covertly effusive hugs. They thanked Atobe with undue fervency, and gave him a ride home. The car was too small, so Jirou's younger sister sat in Jirou's lap - in a few minutes she had fallen asleep. Atobe, through subtle jostling, made sure that Jirou didn't follow suit just yet.

Atobe was home by 5:30, surprised by the way the events of the day fit together. It still shocked him that he'd willingly (more or less) boarded public transportation alone. It was uncharacteristic, and he'd have to think about things like that.

Instead, images inexplicably flashed by, of an indulgent smile and closed eyes. Fuji and his new pet. Even though at Hyoutei, Jirou was as friendly and out of place as a dog among leopards, Atobe realized that Jirou shouldn't be anyone's pet. Sometimes Jirou looked at you with unusual perception in his gaze.


	5. Monday, July 27th

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Monday, July 27

"You didn't go to the hospital again and _really _kiss him, did you?" Gakuto instantly said, once he heard the news.

"No, but I was there when he woke up."

"You _did_, didn't you!Why, buchou!"

It was meaningless, so Atobe quit. It no longer mattered to him what Mukahi Gakuto thought he did or didn't do. Besides, the first thing Jirou had said upon waking had been Atobe's name.

During practice Atobe reveled in the normality of the day. Having no more bizarre sicknesses or disturbances was something of a relief. He doled out veiled encouragements and scathing punishments as needed, and Jirou was there playing. In fact, Jirou practiced with such wakeful enthusiasm as never before seen in all of the tennis team's days.

"Your two-day nap seems to have done good things for you," Shishido said to Jirou, after a series of volleys. Jirou laughed and stretched and ran wild.

It was unmistakable, the things Jirou did since he came back from his coma. His game was a good sight better. Jirou's movements were all new and admittedly improved, his scrambling at the net edged with grace and electricity. Atobe was not at all displeased.

Of course, Atobe just _had _to make up for the game that Jirou had missed. Jirou insisted. ("It wasn't _my _fault something weird happened last time. We still have to play! C'mon." Oh, very well.) They began the game at school, attracting passing students and club members who were drawn by the sound of the ball. Occasionally girls cheered excitedly when Atobe made a point.

Atobe made many points. A slight dizziness came upon him every now and then - surely he wasn't getting sick. He knew he'd regret that kiss - how foolish an act, on someone in the hospital. His breath quickened. Was that the beating of his pulse?

An outcry from those watching. Atobe sensed the tennis team regulars standing nearby, emanating surprise. "_Did Atobe-sama just use the Hametsu e no Rondo on Jirou? He must be really serious today._" Their murmuring was too loud.

Across the court, Jirou momentarily paused. His racket had been knocked to the ground, several feet away. Atobe tried to remember if he'd ever used that move on Jirou before.

"Atobe. That was terrific," Jirou told him. From the distance, it was difficult to tell Jirou's expression - it might have been adoration. He was grinning, and all Atobe could see were teeth. Atobe went on to win, 6-3.

"Astonishing," Atobe murmured to himself, at the end of it. He was bothered by a sense of déjà vu. It might have been from a dream. He had an idea of someone's smile being full of many rows of sharpened teeth. It was faint - he had probably imagined it.

As it turned out, he was partially right.

- - -

Note: EXTREMELY TBC.


	6. Wednesday, July 29th

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Wednesday, July 29

Atobe did believe that people could change. It was important to keep this in mind.

It was a day without tennis practice, and so he took the opportunity to confirm a student council meeting with the other members. It took him in a path around the school grounds. On a hotter day he would have told Kabaji to search out anyone he needed to speak to, but today was unusually mild for a Tokyo summer. It was a day made for walking, and Atobe had an exquisite sense for the appropriate.

A lump, prone on the schoolyard grass, attracted Atobe's attention. It was a familiar sight to most of Hyoutei's students - Akutagawa-kun dozing on the lawn. Since it was getting well past the usual school hours, Atobe went over to send Jirou home.

Only, Jirou wasn't asleep. He lay on his back watching the clouds, looking quite comfortable.

"Jirou, you're - awake," Atobe said, taken by surprise. "By your own volition. Are you all right?"

"Huh?" Turning to look up at Atobe, Jirou's expression was alert. A manga volume lay beside his hand. It had been flipped through, at least. "Of course I'm fine. Why?"

"You don't feel tired?"

Jirou looked surprised at the question. "Not right now. Weird. I guess it was a pretty exciting manga."

To that Atobe had to lift an eyebrow, especially in light of _someone's_ recent coma. Nonetheless, he passed it over and let it go. "You ought to be getting home soon, then. Or do some homework."

Jirou had the grace to look a trifle embarrassed as he demurred, with a little laugh, "Well, I rescheduled that match with Fuji-san to today. I have to get to the street courts soon. Want to come?"

"I see. No, I have plans to write the history paper today. It'll be easy, but I can't throw off my schedule."

"Oh." Jirou threw puppy eyes at Atobe, but Atobe valiantly withstood them. "Then, see you tomorrow, Atobe." Atobe gave him a hand up, briefly registering the strong grip of a callused hand. Then it was released, and Jirou went to play his game.

Atobe watched him go. He shook his head - once didn't mean much. Stranger things had happened. Maybe Jirou's sleep last Saturday had been stored up, somehow, and he was operating on reserves. It didn't make any sense, but Atobe could admit that there were many things in the world that weren't fully understood. In any case, tomorrow would come, and probably Jirou snoozing throughout trig lessons would come with it.


	7. Thursday, July 30th

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Thursday, July 30

A lot of people had been directing curious glances at Jirou lately. Atobe knew, because he was doing it too.

"Who are you, and what have you done with Akutagawa Jirou?" asked Shishido, finally weirded out of silence by the plain wakefulness that had enveloped Jirou for longer than anyone had ever witnessed. There hadn't been a single nap since Saturday that anyone had seen. It was enough to be seriously out of the ordinary.

Mukahi chimed in with sudden inspiration: "Pod person."

"You think so?"

They all laughed, standing outside the school at the end of the day. The laughter was good-natured and not serious. Still, uncertainty bit around the edges. It was true that aside from sleeping less, Jirou continued to eat and drink, spark and leap, play tennis and live like the wind.

Jirou just shrugged cheerfully, not knowing. A flickering smile tugged at his lips at unpredictable moments. "I'm still me, like always. It's been such nice weather these last days. I don't know, I feel like doing things! Somehow I'm not tired."

Atobe looked at him dubiously. "At least you'll spend your time more productively, Jirou."

"It's a bit peculiar though," Oshitari mused. "I wonder if your coma had anything to do with this."

"I don't suppose Akutagawa-senpai just needs less sleep as he gets older?" Ootori ventured.

"Jirou?" said Shishido, skeptically. "Besides, I don't think that would happen overnight, Choutarou." He smiled to take the sting out.

"True," Ootori admitted.

Jirou said he was going to the hamburger place and meet Fuji Shuusuke and Fuji's brother there, and would anyone like to come? Atobe might have said yes. It might have been amusing to bait the two Fuji siblings.

Atobe justified his refusal with the reasoning that an afternoon with even one Fuji was too ridiculous to stand, and hamburgers were far beneath him anyway. To sit there among the masses was something Atobe would not do.

Shishido and Ootori went along instead, exchanging glances and shrugs. That, after he recognized it, did not particularly surprise Atobe. They and Jirou took their leave, and soon afterwards the rest of the team drifted off home or downtown in twos and threes.

Atobe opted to go home, so he pulled out his cell phone and called for a ride. The issue of Jirou's unusual lack of sleep had put him somewhat out of sorts.

The chauffeur arrived within ten minutes, during which Atobe idly wondered what he was so annoyed about.

Atobe had always prided himself on knowing about people. For one thing, he knew who he was quite well. At night he could look matter-of-factly at the stars and say he belonged there. About other people, Atobe might misjudge - Tezuka Kunimitsu, for example, who surprised Atobe by being a boy of passion. However, such mistakes were temporary. Atobe understood the truth about Tezuka now, too.

His wasn't the method of data gatherers such as Inui Sadaharu of Seigaku, or Yanagi Renji of Rikkaidai. Atobe consciously never thought about it like that. More profound than tennis, it was a problem of identity, and Atobe was good at solving problems. At least he had been, till Jirou had acted contrary to what Atobe _knew_. No wonder he was annoyed.

Atobe realized he had simply been used to narrowing Jirou down to this one defining trait. Simplification was an easy thing to do.

Moreover, it was a mistake. It was foolish to attach an activity to someone's identity, even if Jirou had been sleeping all his life. Logically, it wasn't incomprehensible to change hobbies, and doing so didn't mean one became someone else entirely. Jirou was Jirou whether he slept thirteen hours a day or not.

By the time Atobe finished with this line of thought, the sleek car pulled into the well-camouflaged garage next to his home. Atobe let it go and went inside. Enough philosophy. He went to tackle schoolwork and dinner.

Even so, he couldn't help remembering their ice cream and the comfort of habits.


	8. Sunday, August 2nd

__

Sunday, August 2

Atobe went down to the river. He went alone.

Oh, he attracted notice along the way, with his saunter and toss, expressing wealth and power without words. No one knew him, though, and so left him alone. At the water's edge, Atobe realized how warm the day was, and a little windy. The spell of good weather wouldn't last for long.

The water rippled strongly across the surface of the river, hinting at the current. It made him restless. That urgent body of water whispered that things were changing.

A little idly, he looked up and down the banks for the fox, thinking it might have stuck around. There was no sign of the creature, though.

It was a little funny that it was true you didn't notice things until you might lose them. It shouldn't have been a big discovery, finding out that he had friends. All he wanted now was for the river to reassure him that his friends weren't strangers, that they wouldn't buy into Fuji Shuusuke's smile.

The reality, as Atobe watched water go by, was that change came even as waves rocked the shore. It took a long time. He found himself extremely displeased, and showed it by coolly crushing a passing ant in the grass. So he could be petty; what of it? He'd wanted to fling rocks into the river, but felt the physical relief would be too emotional and silly. Atobe, at least, would not change like melting clay. Not yet. He'd know when it was time.

Atobe remembered the years side by side, all the way from early elementary school. Those were people he knew well - had met Kabaji and Jirou in second grade, Oshitari in third, and Shishido in fourth. They each had a set of memories associated with them, some more blurry than others.

The first encounter with Jirou, for example - Atobe had stumbled over the snoring boy during lunch hour and Jirou hadn't even woken up. Instead he'd just turned vaguely over. Atobe had been incensed, but had left Jirou alone, for it was ridiculous to bully someone sleeping. Besides, Jirou would get in trouble for napping once lunch was over and he slept through class, so Atobe felt he hardly had to get involved. It had worked out as he thought.

Over all those years, and with the coming of tennis, it was impossible not to know one another. It was true that maybe Jirou had started tennis because Atobe did, but it was hard to say in the end. Those memories were shaky. In any case, they had visited each other's houses, though Jirou went to Atobe's far more often than the other way around. It worked as well as it had to.

More recently the memories of eating ice cream and meeting a city fox, dusted with summer, felt all the more concrete for they had happened by the banks of this same river. Here was assurance that it was real, not some construct of the hopeful mind.

Under the cloud-shorn sky, Atobe felt the importance of the past. It occurred to him that perhaps he was made of these memories, that his identity was inextricable from them. What did that mean?

It was an uncertain way to be, on one hand. On the other, the years and the river convinced him it was true.

More importantly at the moment, what would he do? For something had to be done. It wasn't puerile to want a tangible victory; that would be easy enough to arrange. Atobe would decide once the storm broke.

In a way, perhaps, Fuji should be thanked for his untimely arrival into Atobe's life. At the very least it cleared a film of denial from Atobe's eyes. Thanks to Fuji, Jirou was more than himself; had acquired danger and value. Atobe cursed his uncharacteristic lack of insight. How could he have missed.

Well, it wasn't too late.

Weathermen had been issuing warnings for days. So far they had all been incorrect, as the sky remained unnaturally blue and clear, and people everywhere scoffed. For himself, Atobe believed that the rain would definitely come, and when it did, there were those who would regret it. In fact, there were clouds on the horizon, when he looked.


	9. Monday, August 3rd

__

Monday, August 3

Step one.

There were multitudes of things Atobe knew. Among these was the certainty of fire - he wasn't made for jealousy. It was an emotion that should have just passed him by, for he had the things he wanted. Concerning people, perhaps it should be different, but he felt like the world would crumble at his feet if he asked. So Jirou, only a boy, must be a lesser task.

He made no concrete plans, for Atobe had a swift mind, and words formed on his lips like reflexes. All through tennis practice, nonetheless, the near future loomed anticipatory.

"Are you all right, buchou?" Ootori asked him, off to the side. "I apologize for prying, but you seem to have something on your mind." That boy - Atobe sometimes wondered how Ootori had ended up successful at Hyoutei. The fact that he _had_ made Atobe actually rather fond of him.

"It's of no concern. The matter will be soon resolved," Atobe explained, and Ootori didn't bring it up again. Atobe strategically kept everyone else too busy to observe the undercurrents of his face.

Playing and watching others play was a good dose of competitive medicine. These prolonged bouts of emotion couldn't be healthy. Kicking hell out of an opponent, on the other hand, calmed Atobe, though several other club members might not have felt the same way.

So as a result, it was easy to collect himself. Faced Jirou at the end of practice, and inspiration struck. "Let's go look for that fox. Remember? You missed it when you were asleep." He kept his voice strategically low. Personal.

Something flickered in Jirou's eyes when he gazed into Atobe's face. Atobe got the feeling that somehow Jirou knew exactly what Atobe was doing; that was a somewhat uncomfortable thought. Irresistably, Jirou quirked his lips into a grin. "Sounds good. But isn't it going to rain?"

Indeed, the weathermen looked about to be proven correct, the sky steeped in grey and humidity. Atobe shrugged. "I brought an umbrella." All set.

"Just you and me, Atobe?" That was an innocent question, right?

"If you like." And if Jirou asked to bring Fuji Shuusuke, Atobe might just kill him.

Fortunately, Jirou said nothing of the sort. Atobe probably didn't give Jirou enough credit for perception, since as much as Atobe knew it, it took time to adjust to the changing of things. Quite cheerfully, Jirou said, "All right. Let's go, a little rain doesn't bother me! Where will we look? Down by the river?"

This was definitely one of the stranger things Atobe had ever done. For once, the excitement of the unknown, and going out to look for it, attracted him. He reasoned that he was fifteen, so why shouldn't he like an adventure?

"We'll have to start at the river, at least," he agreed. As if he knew what he were doing. 

It was a walk of ten minutes down foggy streets to get to their destination. The mist cooled down the air, so a good number of people populated the sidewalks. They stuffed umbrellas in their bags and went unafraid in the face of nature.

Atobe felt superior enough not to have to constantly explain _why_ to his teammates. Besides, Jirou didn't look at him curiously, and neither did the faceless passerbys they crossed paths with. It was good to leave some things unsaid, as long as someone seemed to understand.

Slashing through the quiet residential neighborhood was the river, sided by concrete bricks and then overgrown with weeds. On both edges it was lined with a narrow corridor of patchy grass, interspersed with trees and benches. This was as much park as one got, here.

They stopped at the edge. Abruptly Jirou crouched down, and Atobe followed out of curiosity. Already Jirou was inspecting the grassy cover around them and on the far bank. Skulking in reeds, twitching at any movements, were actions slightly beneath Atobe's dignity. Ridiculously, it was enjoyable. Bizarre.

At the same time, ludicrous. "We aren't going to find anything," he cautioned. Animals were unpredictable, not to be depended on.

"Oh, don't be a pessimist," Jirou replied disarmingly. The boy scarcely blinked, he was searching so hard. Jirou really wanted this.

Perversely, Atobe found himself arguing against what he'd suggested in the first place. "What fox would come out in this weather during the day? They're not absolutely stupid."

Jirou shot him a brief, wounded glance. "Atobe, I know that," he whined, drawing the name out into its component syllables in that annoying way he had. "This was your idea."

"Well," Atobe huffed, faintly offended because it was true and he knew it. He let the farce go on for another two minutes, then stood up decisively. "We can look for the fox while walking, at least." A cramp was beginning to form, crouching like that.

Amiably, Jirou accomodated. They made their way along the water's edge, following the current downstream. Slight breezes ruffled grass, causing subtle movements that tugged at the corner of Atobe's eyes. Despite what he told himself about foxes, he wanted to find it again, too. It would be pathetic to come all the way, neglecting homework to crawl in the grass, only to be defeated by an animal.

"Oh," said Jirou, pausing in his step and turning his face to the white sky. "I think the rain has started. Did you feel it?"

In a moment Atobe felt it, a fat drop splat on his forehead. "Yes, I believe I did. Inevitable," he sighed, and shook out his umbrella. This was why he ought to always have a plan, and watch the weather channel.

It all broke apart overhead with astonishing rapidity. Water came down in a mad spill. It dispersed the humidity to some degree, and the wind was almost chill. Despite the umbrella he and Jirou were both getting rather wet. Atobe shuddered at the vision of himself, bedraggled and rain wet. Ugh. These sacrifices he made for friendship- so why didn't he regret it?

The rain forced them into adherence and accidental touches, crowded under the umbrella, a weak curtain of dryness. It provided body heat. Atobe handily won a brief squabble over who was to hold the umbrella, since he was taller. He led the way back to the streets that he recognized well, and they ducked under a shop awning.

For a few moments they stood there, gathering their breath around them as a barrier to the wet. The rain set up quite a cacaphony, driving people back to their refuges. "I suppose we ought to go home," Atobe said. Jirou didn't reply. Jirou stared down the rain-spattered road intently, as if the force of his stare could cajole passing foxes into crossing the street. Nor did Atobe reach for his cell phone to call his chauffeur.

"Just wait," Jirou said, half to himself. His body was held tense and still.

"What?" Atobe said, wanting clarification. He was ignored, so he trained his own glare at the other boy. At least it allowed him to observe the fact of dampness clinging to the skin of Jirou's face and darkening his hair. Atobe had sufficient candor with himself to admit it gave him pleasure to look. He might as well admit it now. "You-" he began, then found no words coming through.

Jirou moved suddenly. His eyes flashed wide open in half an instant.

"_I saw it,_" he declared. All laws of coincidence and probability discarded in three syllables.

Atobe turned and stared down the direction of the road Jirou had looked. All he saw were the facades of houses, and some glimpses of gardens. This was not to be his day. A car sped by, its wheels flinging water up close to their feet.

"I saw a fox," Jirou repeated, adamantly. "It was running. It went into that backyard." He pointed, though it meant nothing now.

Impossible though it was, there was the force of conviction in Jirou's voice. Atobe observed Jirou's shining expression with interest. "How can you be sure it's not entirely from your imagination?" he asked, for this was a question of utmost importance.

"I know it with every part of me," said Jirou without hesitation. It was fascinating how entirely emotional he could be. Jirou bounced closer, light in his eye saying that he knew exactly what both of their statements meant.

A shocking charge skittered over Atobe's skin when Jirou reached up and put his hand on the back of Atobe's neck, palm flat and damp where it wrapped around his spine. Not as foreseen, but still unexpectedly good. So was the kiss, as real as any Gakuto could ask for; so was the colorless sky.

In a fit of inexplicable (perhaps) madness, Atobe went along when Jirou pulled him into the rain, splashing into _all_ the puddles. Atobe hoped neither of them would get sick. Even as he thought it, that last protest of logic, he pretended to forget about his umbrella - regardless of his excellent short-term memory. No one was looking, so he stuffed the wet umbrella in his bag. 

They ran home soaked in water and electrons, moving particles of change.

- - - 

STILL EXTREMELY TBC! 


End file.
